Knights Jaeger
by BillyDeeWilliams
Summary: The Knights Jaeger, most holy and violent Templars of Taal, scramble to defeat a sudden Orc invasion threatening to devastate Talabecland. But a far more sinister foe lurks behind the Greenskins. Gustav von Scharnhorst and his brother knights must defeat the Greenskins and destroy the insidious foe that threatens to topple the teetering Empire, no matter how costly the victory.
1. 1: The Gathering Storm

I got the inspiration for this when I was rolling up Imperial Knightly Orders using the 1d4chan creation tables and by pure luck, rolled a perfect 100 on size, making my order super huge. I decided that that was too good to pass up, so I decided to write this, not least because the patron god I rolled was Taal, and he and Talabecland don't get nearly enough love. I hope you enjoy it, and I welcome any criticism, constructive or otherwise. Fair warning: I get bored really easily. I cannot and do not promise that there will be many future updates, nor can I promise any sort of timetable. If you'd like a map for reference, I use the Super Huge Detailed Map of the Warhammer Old World at Gitzman's Gallery. It's huge and awesome, though not consistent with some of the other maps I've read. I really can't tell the difference between fanmade material and GW material (since I don't actually play the game but enjoy the fluff), but I suspect this is fanmade. I'm also probably going to be posting this in the Space Battles creative writing forum and on the Bolthole.

* * *

The tall, slender knight idly stroked the silver-inlaid butt of his master crafted pistol, as he gazed out on a scene of utter devastation with cold, grey eyes. The screams of the dying mingled with the wails of the mourners and the crackling of still-burning fires, creating a din almost as horrific as the battle that preceded it. And Gustav von Scharnhorst ignored it.

Instead, he stared intently at the massive beast at his feet. A hulking Greenskin warboss, it was covered in crude iron plates, roughly hammered into an ill-fitting shape and daubed with profane symbols. A student of such matters, Scharnhorst recognized them as symbols of the beast's devotion to Gork and Mork, the savage Greenskin gods of brutal cunning and cunning brutality, though even they knew not which was which. A broken pole, bearing the skulls and banners of fallen enemies, lay on the ground beside him where it had broken off when the beast had fallen. There was a neat hole in his forehead, where a bullet from Scharnhorst's gun had killed it. To either side of the creature were two massive axes, finely made and deadly sharp. Dwarf-craft, by their look, they had also been defiled with Greenskin devotional icons.

Scharnhorst squatted, and rifled through the various pouches and satchels scattered around the body, where the Warboss kept his most treasured possessions. What he found, mostly Dwarfen and a few Imperial trophies, was probably worth half of his father's estate, but it brought him no closer to the answer. After surreptitiously pocketing one or two of the trinkets, he deposited the rest into a leather satchel, to be given to the Knight-Captain when he had finished. He looked up, and saw a small knot of peasants vainly trying to extinguish a burning hut with thrown buckets of water. He stood, and shouted "You there! Enough of that. Get over here and help me turn this beast over." They turned and stared at him with hollow, exhausted, and traumatized eyes. "What are you waiting for?" he said, irritation leaking into his voice.

"Yes, milord," their apparent leader said dully, and the peasants clumped over. Scharnhorst bent at the waist, and shoved his hands into the muck underneath the beast, heaving along with six others. After a minute of straining, they had managed to shift the six-hundred pound beast onto its stomach. "That'll be all for now, return to your work," he said, ignoring the peasants as they stood there stupidly, staring at the beast. They clumped off again, and began throwing more water on the sputtering flames.

Scharnhorst squatted again, flicking his hands together to get rid of the mud, and looked for a moment at the massive exit wound the gunshot wound had left in the back of the Orc's head. He then drew a long dirk from his belt, which he used to scrape the mud and muck off the beast's back, the better to inspect it. After a few minutes, he snorted in disgust. Nothing. He knew there were more nobles to inspect, but he took another look at the fire the peasants were attempting to put out. It was getting out of control, and threatening to consume the few undamaged houses, nearby. He sighed heavily, turned to the peasants and shouted, "Right then, let's get this fire out."

After about half an hour of struggling, the impromptu firefighters had managed to quench the flames. Scharnhorst didn't stay for the cheering, except to allow himself a moment to enjoy a cool wind that blew through his close-cropped blond hair, relieving his headache and drying some of the sweat streaming down into his cuirass. Along with a cuisse covering his thighs, vambraces and pauldrons covering his arms, it was all the plate armor he wore, in contrast to virtually all of his brother knights, who wore suits that encased their entire bodies. After a moment, he set off across the mean little settlement, hacked out of a miserable Ostermark forest, called Beckdorf, looking for more Greenskin leaders. He wasn't optimistic. He had already searched what was, indubitably, the largest of the small horde, a splinter force from a larger one that was currently rampaging west towards Scharnhorst's homeland, that had descended on this village. If it didn't bear any evidence of what these Greenskins were fleeing that would have brought them so far north, Scharnhorst doubted its lieutenants would.

He came upon the smoking ruin of the one stone-built structure in the settlement, an inn. The 'mayor' of the town and his militia had made their stand on its steps, and so the area around them was littered with nearly a hundred corpses. Scharnhorst drew his sword and began using it to poke through the Greenskin corpses. Around him, several of his brother knights were executing wounded orcs. Near the ruins, the sisters of Shallya had erected a hospital tent, where they vainly struggled against the oncoming death of their patients.

One knight, a huge bear of a man with a white beard that ordinarily would have been tucked into his belt, looked up in askance. "What are you doing, sapling?" he growled.

"My job, lord."

"Our job is to kill the enemies of the Empire and Taal. Quit mincing and help me kill these bastards."

"Merciful Verena, preserve us from morons," he muttered, perhaps a little loudly, under his breath.

"What's that, sapling?" the knight snapped, his head whipping up.

"I said, 'Merciful Taal preserve us from abominations,' lord."

"Rhya's tits. I heard you praying to Verena, heretic."

Scharnhorst tried to change the subject. "Just so you know, my lord, I was charged by the Grandmaster himself to investigate why these Orcs have come so far north."

"Who cares? They're here, killing Empire citizens and defiling Taal's domain. And I don't see the Grandmaster, do you?"

"No, but if we return to Talabheim without an answer for him, he's going to ask me why. And I'll tell him that I was obstructed by meatheads like you, my lord."

Quick as a flash, the full-plate armored knight sprang towards Scharnhorst, and closed his fist around his throat, Scharnhorst's half-plate providing no protection from the attack. "Now you're assuming, sapling, that you'll live to make that report," Dieter von Rapp, Templar of Taal, Knight-Banneret of the Knights Jaeger, growled.

Scharnhorst managed to choke out, "Now what would Taal think, lord?" as he pointedly tapped the barrel of his drawn pistol against Rapp's chin. Rapp released Scharnhorst with a bark of laughter. Scharnhorst fell heavily on top of a Greenskin corpse, hacking and heaving, barrel still fixed on larger knight's forehead.

"You may be a Verena-worshipping milquetoast, sapling, but you've got spirit. I'll give you that," the older man said, smiling. Scharnhorst grinned weakly himself, and holstered the weapon. Without another word, Rapp spun on his heel, his sword flashing into his hand, ready to kill more orcs. Another knight ambled up behind Scharnhorst, his helmet under his arm, gnawing on a chicken bone. He said to Scharnhorst's back, "What in Rhya's name was that?"

"Just a little philosophical disagreement." Scharnhorst said, still rubbing his throat.

"Looked like more than that," Markus Kohl said, grinning. The other knight was about twenty, the same age as Scharnhorst, with a mane of golden hair and a fencing scar on his face. To the extent that the studious, gun-wielding knight had any friends among these backward, hypocritical Templars of Taal, Markus Kohl was Scharnhorst's.

Unlike most of the Templars, Kohl wasn't from Talabecland. He was from Nuln, where Scharnhorst's father had sent him to study, when he refused the life of a priest. His father had, Scharnhorst reflected grimly, gotten his way in the end, managing to force him into the Knights Jaeger. "What do you really want, Markus?" Scharnhorst asked, somewhat wearily.

"Do I need to want something?"

"You usually want something."

"Not this time, my friend. This time, I have something for you."

"Oh really?" Scharnhorst asked, his suspicions roused. Kohl, for all that he was a steadfast companion in battle, wasn't much for giving without any take.

"You need to relax. And I have-"

"Oh, no," he said, his suspicions confirmed. "You are not pushing another provincial slut on me tonight."

"Taal's nuts, man, it's not like they're not _willing_. You saved their village! You've earned it. You know it, _they_ know it. For Morr's sake, you killed the warboss."

"Doesn't mean I'm looking to catch a venereal disease."

"I have no idea why I waste my time on you. I really don't. Good day, Herr Scharnhorst," he said, standing and bowing sarcastically low, a stupid grin on his face.

"Why, why could I not just have stayed at the university?" Scharnhorst called to Kohl's back. He didn't turn around. "Asshole," he muttered. Scharnhorst stood up, and continued the work of searching the Orcs. Soon after, he idly kicked a severed Orc head. He was about to move on when he noticed something glinting eerily in the orange light of the sunset. He poked at with his sword. The result was a surprisingly loud, clear, but foreboding note. He pulled a handkerchief from inside his breastplate, and tore the silver amulet out of the muck, without allowing it to touch his bare skin.

It was ancient, that much was immediately clear. It was nearly smooth, with only the faintest ghost of old designs visible, but it was surprisingly heavy. Scharnhorst estimated that it weighed twice what a similar amount of gold would have weighed, and he was glad he had covered his hand before touching it. He sheathed his sword, and drew the dirk. He used the tip to trace what remained of the designs on each side. On what Scharnhorst assumed was the reverse was a depiction of a creature. He traced it several times, and each time he did, the sick feeling in his stomach worsened. After the seventh time, he was sure of what it was. He had seen it dozens of times in his textbooks, but seeing it for real nearly made him throw up. He quickly covered the whole thing in the cloth, and hid it inside his breastplate. The only reason he didn't run to the tent the captain had set up outside town was because he didn't want to answer any questions.

* * *

Ten minutes later, he burst into the Knight-Captain's war tent, where he and five or six of his Knights-Banneret were conferring over a massive map. The map charted the path of the Greenskin Horde of Grom Peak, which had come out of the mountains near the source of the River Stir, and had rampaged west, down then north bank of the river. After sacking the river town of Essen, they meandered north, to avoid the dead city of Mordheim and the Dead Wood. Now, they turned south and west, back toward the Stir and Talabecland. Most immediately, the horde threatened the undefended river town of Bissendorf, the last town on the Stir within Ostermark. Imperial forces were attempting to rally after a major defeat at the village of Dorlesk, directly northeast of Bissendorf and directly east of Beckdorf, but consolidation was proving to be problematic. The map was marked with some of the largest functional concentrations of Imperial units, mostly clustered around the encampment of the Elector-Count of Ostermark, Wolfram Hertwig, at Seuthes, directly northeast of Dorlesk, and the main encampment of the Knights Jaeger and its Grandmaster, Gunther von Werder, still in Talabecland, outside the temple village of Trautenan, north of the Stir. One look at the map would tell you that the Imperials would be too late to save Bissendorf.

"Ah, the investigator," the young Knight-Captain Otto von Donnersmark said, indulgently. "What's the meaning of this, Scharnhorst?" he asked, less indulgently.

"My lords," Scharnhorst said quickly, dipping in a fast bow. "Forgive me, but I need a moment with the Knight-Captain. If you would give us the room? It's quite urgent." The Knights-Banneret didn't say anything, but looked at Donnersmark, who gave a quick nod. The heavily armored men clanked out of the tent. At least one, Scharnhorst noted, gave him a dirty look.

"This better be good, Scharnhorst. If I've embarrassed myself by listening to an overeager sapling, I'm taking it out on you."

"Of course, lord," he said, holding up the cloth-covered amulet. "I found this, among the Greenskin corpses."

"And what is it?"

"An amulet, definitely not of Greenskin, Dwarf, or human make," he said, setting it down on the table, and withdrawing the handkerchief. Donnersmark reached out to touch it, and Scharnhorst snapped, "No! Don't touch it, my lord."

"Why not? It's just blank silver."

"With respect, it isn't, lord. It's ancient, and the designs are nearly worn off, but it bears the image of none other than Nagash himself."

Donnersmark's eyes widened and his mouth dropped slightly open. "I may not have grown up in a library like you, Scharnhorst, but I know that name. Are you sure?"

"Completely, my lord. It's faint, but I traced the outline many times. More to the point, this thing has a mind of its own. It's as if it _wants_ you to know who created it," he said, swaddling the amulet in his handkerchief again.

"And an Orc would never possess this unless he got it as a trophy?"

"No, lord. Orcs keep no gods except their own. This horde has encountered at least one, probably several, powerful necromancers. Anyone in possession of an artifact even distantly linked to Nagash will be a very dangerous individual."

"But the Orcs killed him, yes?"

"Yes. But they didn't stop running. They must not have been able to overcome the necromancers, so they fled. If a person possessing such an object was defeated by the Greenskins while they themselves were being defeated, the original owner's cohorts must be very dangerous indeed."

"Only Morr hates the undead more than Taal, sapling. We must find the source of this taint and destroy it. That much is clear."

"But how? The Greenskins still threaten to overrun Talabecland."

"We will have to deal with the Orcs first. But our standing orders no longer bind us. We do not have time to conduct raids on outlying Orc warbands. All of us must be ready to ride in one hour. We must find the Grandmaster. And we can't afford to go through the forest. We will have to overtake the Horde."

"With respect, my lord, this amulet will do us no good if we die before we reach the Grandmaster."

"I didn't say it would be easy, sapling. Only that we would do it."

"Yes, my lord."

"Ready your lance. Go now, and show no one what you have found. Find Sir Julius. You will ride with him and the scouts."

* * *

Scharnhorst left the command tent and made his way to his tent, near the outskirts of the company camp. There, he found his squire and men-at-arms, who comprised his lance, the smallest unit in the Knights Jaeger. "Hansie!" Scharnhorst called, getting his squire's attention, and bolted up from a card game he was playing with the men-at-arms. The lad was young, only fifteen, but huge. He towered over Scharnhorst at over six feet, and already had the makings of a fierce beard. He was a natural on horseback, with a sword, a lance, and in full plate. He was devoted to Taal, the god of mud, to boot. Hans Strasser, Scharnhorst suspected, would make a better knight than he ever would.

"We're leaving. We must find the Grandmaster at once."

"Why, sir?"

"On an errand of great import. I cannot tell you more. I'll see to getting us packed up and ready to fight on the road. You go find Brandt, and make sure he knows we're leaving. If he asks, tell him the orders come direct from Donnersmark. Then get back here and make yourself ready to leave. Full armor."

"Aye, sir."

Strasser sprinted off, towards the center of the camp, and Scharnhorst turned to men-at-arms, who had continued their game. "On your feet, you dogs. Get this tent packed, get your gear, and load your weapons."

"Aye, Sir Gus," the sergeant, Wilhelm Rauch, a grizzled veteran from the Lord Scharnhorst's personal guard said, as only one who had known Scharnhorst from birth could.

"Not in front of the children, Willi," Scharnhorst said, looking pointedly at the three other soldiers.

"You wound us, lord," said Lothar Ertl, about the same age as Scharnhorst, holding his hand over his heart in mock outrage.

"I'm going to wound you if you don't follow orders, peasant."

"Mercy, lord!"

"Shut up."

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, Scharnhorst and Strasser were on their palfreys, half-plate and sallets in place. What they lacked in armor they more than made up for in armament. On their belts were longswords, dirks, and break-action pistols. In leather holsters on their saddles were cut-down rifle carbines and saddlebags full of brass cartridges. _The god of mud might look down on firearms_, Scharnhorst thought, _but Myrmidia knows that the point of war is to win_.

The other men-at-arms were also mounted, on lesser steeds, wearing their cuirasses and morions, and checking their break-action carbines or oiling their swords. Behind them were three pack horses, two carrying their tent and other gear, one carrying six full-length lances, as well as two massive warhorses for Scharnhorst and Strasser. Several company grooms were making their final checks of the lance's saddles and gear. When they finished, they led the additional horses to the rear of the column of knights and men-at-arms forming up outside Beckdorf, facing southeast. Scharnhorst and his lance were almost at the front, befitting their place among the scouts.

From slightly ahead came a great shout, "Scouts, move out!" and a long, loud blast of a horn. And with that, the knight company began its march south, towards the Grandmaster and the assembled might of 1,200 Knights Jaeger. Between them and the three hundred of Donnersmark's company were fifteen thousand slavering Orcs and twice as many goblins. Too late, Scharnhorst realized that it probably wasn't productive to dwell on such things, and swallowed quickly, gripping his carbine a little tighter.


	2. Appendix: Knights Jaeger Codex

So this is a bunch of fluff I created for the Knights, partially based on my rolling. It should give you a better idea of how and where the Knights operate.

* * *

Knights Jaeger

General information:

Headquarters: Jaegerhof, Talabheim.

* * *

Foundation: 1361 IC

Founder: Empress Ottilia I.

Purpose: Defend the Cults of Taal and Ulric from the Sigmarite blasphemy.

Founding members: Veterans of the Battle of the Talabec, ca. 1360.

* * *

Strength: 2200 knights

Other combat personnel: 13000

Noncombat personnel: 9000

* * *

Assets: ~1 million crowns

* * *

Type: Templar Order

God: Taal

Patrons:

Cult of Taal: The Nar-Taal, spiritual head of the Cult of Taal.

Special dispensation for use of full plate.

Talabecland: Kurfürst-Graf Helmuth Feuerbach, Elector-Count of Talabecland.

Talabheim: League of the Talabec, the largest merchant guild in Talabecland.

* * *

Strictures:

Ranks:

Hochmeister (Grandmaster): overall command.

Two Lehrer (Preceptors): Commands a corps of 1000 knights.

Four Ritter-Kommandant (Knights-Commander): Command division of 500 knights.

Forty Ritter-Hauptmann (Knights-Captain): Command a company of 50 knights.

Forty Ritter-Förster (Knights-Ranger): Command five scout lances.

360 Ritter-Fähnchen (Knights-Banneret): Command five lances.

+/- 1700 Ritter-Templer (Knights-Templar): Command a lance of at least five men.

* * *

Each knight maintains his own lance, consisting of at least one squire and three men-at-arms, plus the mounts and equipment for all members of the lance.

Each knight company has one Knight-Ranger, who commands the company's scout lances, comprised of the youngest knights in the company. His role is to complete the training of the younger knights and, obviously, to scout for the company. The position defaults to the most senior Knight-Banneret in the company, but may also be assigned based on aptitude for the role. When he takes the role, he exchanges his personally-maintained lance for a squad of fifteen Kislevite horse archers, hired from Kislev and maintained at the order's expense.

The Knight-Ranger may or may not be the Knight-Captain's second-in-command. The Knight-Captain may designate any Knight-Banneret as his executive officer.

Squires:

Grandmaster may have any number of squires.

Preceptors may have up to five squires.

Knights-Commander may have up to four squires.

Knights-Captain may have up to three squires.

Knights-Banneret and Knights-Ranger may have up to two squires.

Knights-Templar must have one squire only.

Lance size:

Grandmaster may not maintain a lance separate from their bodyguard.

Preceptors may not maintain a lance separate from their bodyguard.

Knights-Commander may maintain a lance of up to fifty men.

Knights-Captain may maintain a lance of up to thirty men.

Knights-Ranger must maintain a lance of fifteen horse archers.

Knights-Banneret may maintain a lance of up to fifteen men.

Knights-Templar may maintain a lance of up to ten men.

* * *

Bodyguard: Only the Grandmaster and Preceptors may maintain a personal bodyguard of Knights Jaeger.

Retinue: Grandmaster, Preceptors, and Knights-Commander may maintain a retinue of personal retainers.

Chapterhouse command: All knights above the rank of Knight-Banneret may command a Knights Jaeger Chapterhouse.

Household: All knights above the rank of Knight-Templar may maintain a household separate and apart from the order.

Residency: All knights below the rank of Knight-Banneret must live at the Jaegerhof or one of the Chapterhouses ten months out of the year. The other two months may be spent on family estates.

Readiness: All knights, of any rank, must be ready to respond to the call of their superiors at any time.

* * *

Command structure:

Grandmaster: Gunther von Werder

Years served: 40

Command: Jagerhof, Talabheim.

* * *

Preceptors:

Joachim von Riedel

Years served: 30

Command: Taalplatz Chapterhouse, Middenheim

Franz von Weyl

Years served: 27

Command: Hochburg Chapterhouse, Krugenheim, Talabecland.

* * *

Knights-Commander:

Alfred von Wien

Years served: 23

Command: Talabecstrasse Chapterhouse, Altdorf.

Paulus Fuchs

Years served: 25

Command: Taalhof Chapterhouse, Nuln.

Leopold von Ranke

Years served: 22

Command: Taalgad Chapterhouse, Talabheim.

Karl von Meinhof

Years served: 20

Command: Bek Chapterhouse, Talabecland.

* * *

Locations:

Headquarters: Jaegerhof, Talabheim.

Strength: 750 knights

Other combat personnel: 5000

Noncombat personnel: 3000

* * *

Major Chapterhouses:

Altdorf:

Strength: 250 knights

Other combat personnel: 1400

Non-combat personnel: 800

Patron: Kaiser Karl Franz I von Holswig-Schliestein

* * *

Nuln:

Strength: 100 knights

Other combat personnel: 600

Noncombat personnel: 500

Patron: Kurfürst-Gräfin Emmanuelle von Liebwitz

* * *

Middenheim:

Strength: 400 knights

Other combat personnel: 2300

Noncombat personnel: 1400

Patron: Kurfürst-Graf Boris Todbringer

* * *

Other Chapterhouses throughout Talabecland

Strength: 700 knights

Other combat personnel: 4000

Non-combat personnel: 3800

* * *

Company XIX of the Knights Jaeger

Headquarters: Kappelburg Chapterhouse, Talabecland.

Command: Otto von Donnersmark, 23rd Viscount Zutzen.

Retinue: Wolf Vostell, Wolf Priest of Ulric; Ulli Zeiss, Priest of Taal; Sister Nadja von Tschiner, M.D., Canoness of Shallya; Joseph von Schweighof, Weapons Master; Erich Mann, master blacksmith; Augustus Orff, accountant and paymaster; Matthias Dohlen, quartermaster; Rolf Wader, stablemaster.

Knight-Ranger: Sir Julius Brandt, 107th Baronet Scheinfeld

Knights-Banneret:

Sir Dieter von Rapp

Sir Hermann Rilke

Sir Magnus von Stir

Sir Maximillian von Braun

* * *

House of Scharnhorst

Titles: Markgraf von Ahlbeck

Seat: Scharnhafen, Talabecland

Head: Lord Ludwig XI, 30th Marquis von Ahlbeck

Lady: Lady Elisabet, née von Salzenmund

Heir: Lord Dietrich

Issue: Sir Friedrich, Sir Gustav, Lady Sibylle

Assets: ~200,000 crowns

Strength: 100 horse, 700 foot.

Holding size: 75,000 acres (303 sq. km.; 117 sq. mi.)

Population: 8500 enserfed, 1000 free.

Town of Ahlbeck: 600


	3. 2: The Battle of Bissendorf

So I know it has been a very long time, but I finally made my way back to this fic. I've decided to set in the alternate Storm of Chaos timeline. I'd rather not wrestle with the implications of the End Times, which I don't fully understand myself. And just FYI, 'asan' is Polish for 'sir.'

* * *

"Enough, General."

"My lord-"

"I said enough, General."

"With respect, lord, I have been appointed by the Elect-"

"Oh, appointed? You claim dominion over me and my men with a piece of paper, written by a secretary?"

The lavishly-dressed officer did indeed produce a piece of paper. "It is signed by the Elector, lord."

"Have you met the Elector, boy? I have. My family and my order have been among his greatest servants for a thousand years. You, you reek of commerce, of money and greased palms. You are a middle-born upstart, and the only reason I do not kill you myself is _because_ of that piece of paper. That's all you get from it, general. Life." The 66th Duke of Volgen, Gunther von Werder, Hochmeister of the Knights Jaeger, did not shout. He never shouted. But he allowed his fingers to rest lightly on the hilt of his naked sword, laid out across a massive map of the Empire covering the great table that had been brought hastily into the nave of the great Temple of Sigmar, Lord of the Hunt, which dominated the village of Trautenan, in far southeastern Talabecland.

General Klaus Lomb, however, had more determination than sense, and pressed on. Werder gave an inward grunt of approval; despite himself, he was starting to like the vulgar merchant. Most men shut their mouths long before Werder got anywhere near his sword, but maybe this one was made of sterner stuff. Before continuing, though, he inclined his head, conceding command to the Hochmeister. "Ostermark is not worth our blood, lord."

"I care not one whit for Ostermark," he continued, his face still presenting an icy mask of distaste. "The Emperor could sell Archaon's wreck of a province to Kislev and the only question I'd ask is whether the Runefang was part of the deal. At least they know how to fight. That ponce Hertwig, on the other hand, couldn't fight his way out of a latrine. 10,000 good men dead in his little debacle at Dorlesk, our defense shattered, and for how many Greenskins? 7,500 if we're being generous.

"No, I care not for Ostermark. I do care for Talabecland, and I'd rather not fight the Greenskins on our own territory if we can do it on someone else's. Bissendorf is their last stop before they're burning, pillaging, and enslaving right here."

"The Greenskins will be at Bissendorf in three days, maybe four if they stop to loot. Even if we mobilized right now, we couldn't be there in time. But we can be ready for them when they arrive. I implore you, my lord, let us make ready."

"Not all of us can be there in time. There are fifty thousand men in this army. Surely some are well-drilled professionals or expensive mercenaries capable of double-timing or marching through the night to Bissendorf in three days. How many?"

"Lord, there are at least 50,000 Greenskins all told. Even at 1-to-1 parity, we'll have enough trouble defeating them at a time and place of our choosing. Surely you cannot intend to confront them with half that number, at most."

"I most certainly do, General."

"My lord, that is impossible. You will be slaughtered, then the remainder of this force will be slaughtered, and the Greenskins will bring war to the gates of Talabheim."

"Much must be risked in war, General. We cannot afford to let the enemy retain the initiative."

"Your horsemen will be unable to maneuver between the village, the river, the hills and the forest."

"We are not Bretonnians. We are not ashamed to fight on foot, which we shall do."

"We will be slaughtered."

"We may. But I have a plan," which he explained

"Then I will accompany you. Half the men you are taking are mine."

"Of course, general," Volgen said, inclined to be generous now that Lomb had ceased his protestations. "In fact, you will command the river division. I will command the town division."

"If you get my men killed, my lord of Volgen, I'll be very unhappy. Though I suppose I will also be too dead to care."

"We will both be too dead to care, my dear Lomb."

* * *

"Turn!" Six armored men rotated in their saddles. "Fire!" Six cut-down break action rifle carbines barked, felling four of their pursuers. "Reload!" Scharnhorst broke the breech of his weapon, which spat a hot brass cartridge into his face. It hit him in the cheek, burning him. Scharnhorst ignored it, slamming another .55 caliber cartridge into the barrel. He snapped it shut, and shouted "Turn!" even as he spun. "Fire!" He briefly glanced down the barrel of the gun, finding a huge Orc Nob in his sights. He pulled the trigger, and the weapon bucked against his shoulder. A moment later, the huge bullet smashed its way through the Nob's knee, shattering the cap and nearly severing the limb. The monstrosity instantly went down, and was trampled to death by his comrades.

The Orcs were closing, even at full gallop. Twenty meters. "Turn! Fire! Reload!" Fifteen meters. "Turn! Fire! Reload!" Ten meters. "Turn! Fire! Reload!" Five meters. Frantically, Scharnhorst's men increased their rate of fire: "Turn! Fire! Reload!" Three meters! "Steel!" Scharnhorst shouted, dropping his carbine into its long leather holster. He ripped his longsword from its scabbard, and drew his pistol with his left hand. Just as he turned to meet Greenskin iron with Nuln steel, a massive Nob was already airborne, his cleaver swinging to separate Scharnhorst's head from his shoulders. In that instant, he knew he would be too slow to parry or bring the pistol to bear. He offered a brief prayer to Verena, and closed his eyes.

A moment later, he opened them. His horse was still galloping at full tilt, but now he was amongst his brother knights, who were crashing down on the Greenskins from all directions, charging into the enemy from their concealed deployment on the reverse slopes of the small hills on either side of the once-pleasant road.

Scharnhorst's head whipped around, and he saw the Nob that had been about to kill him on the ground, the broken haft of a lance protruding from its throat. Just as the rest of the knights had almost passed the Nob, it started to move. Incredibly, it was still alive and trying to stand up. It yanked the lance from its throat, letting out a huge gout of black blood. It lashed out with the broken lance point, hamstringing one of the final horses in the charge. Its rider crumpled along with it, and was pinned beneath the weight of the dying animal. The orc let out a bestial roar and hacked down with its cleaver, caving in the knight's breastplate. Several other trailing knights had noticed the orc, and were circling back around.

At the same time, Scharnhorst and the other scouts were regrouping, preparing to move back up to support the charge. Scharnhorst raised his pistol to perforate the orc's skull, which had turned to engage the now-lanceless rear knights. Before he could pull the trigger, two short Kislevite shafts buried themselves in the back of the orc's neck, nearly decapitating it but for a small joint of flesh. Just as suddenly as it had begun to move, it crumpled.

"Good shooting, Petr Stefanovich," Scharnhorst said to the captain of Brandt's Kislevite horse archers, who was trotting in his direction.

"And to you, Gustav Ludwigsson, during the chase. Unless I miss my count, none of your shots went astray," the mercenary adventurer said, his pristine, Imperial University-vintage Reikspiel clashing unsettlingly with his quasi-barbaric appearance. He inclined his head to Scharnhorst and knocked another arrow to his short recurve bow. "You're a lousy horseman, only a passable swordsman, and I fear the day you have to fight with a lance, but you can shoot."

"Ah, my father would be _so_ proud."

"Fathers. Who needs them?" he said over his shoulder as he rode off to join his men.

"Most of us, at one point or another," Scharnhorst said under his breath.

* * *

"As much as I'm enjoying the bloodletting, my lords," Captain von Donnersmark said, yanking his sword from an Orc Nob's brain, "I have to point out that we're getting no closer to overtaking the horde. And we can't really afford the casualties," he said, glancing out over the four knights and twenty men-at-arms who were being draped in soiled linens by the Sisters of Shallya.

He continued, "Brandt, explain to me why this is."

If Donnersmark's tone annoyed the Knight-Ranger of Company XIX, he didn't let it show. It was, after all, a fair question to ask of the scout master. "You know why, Captain. The horde is too wide. It occupies the entire road. The only way around is through the forest."

"We can't move fast enough through the forest to overtake the Horde."

"I know that. I'd reckon the Warboss does as well."

"So what do you suggest, oh seer?"

Brandt almost answered that he wasn't in command, but bit down on it. All things considered, Julius Brandt actually liked Otto von Donnersmark and even respected his skills, but the captain was a pup, and insufficiently deferential to the expertise of his veteran knights, and even to the learned men and women in his retinue, whom Brandt suspected he had selected more for the sake of form than because he desired any counsel but his own. "I suggest that we find a faster way through the forest. There must be men in those woods who know the way through."

"That assumes they haven't all fled the Greenskins. And there are also beastmen in the woods."

"I know, but we have no other options. The good news is, if there are any men left in the woods, they'll be the hard and stubborn type who'll be likely to be able to help us."

"Damn it. Anyone else have any suggestions?" Donnersmark asked of the assembled Knights-Banneret and the martial members of his retinue.

Ulli Zeiss, the leather-clad priest of Taal, spoke up, his unkempt moustaches flaring out, "Taal's power waxes in the forests, young Otto. He smiles on Sir Julius' suggestion. He will protect us, and provide us with allies should we need it."

"He has spoken to you?" Donnersmark asked

"Not this time. But I have faith."

"Yes, as do I. I also have a sword and armor to save me when the gods fail to do so."

"You, your sword, and your armor are all Taal's instruments, boy. You will wield them better in the places of His power."

"And Ulric tells me there are some wolves in there, itching for a fight," Wolf Vostell, Wolf Priest of Ulric, boomed, hefting his mighty warhammer onto his plate-mailed shoulder. "Greenskin blood is as good as beastman blood. Lead the way, Captain."

"It appears we have but one option. Get the company back on horseback."

* * *

"The forest? Are you kidding me?" Scharnhorst asked of Brandt, as they rode to the treeline, about a thousand meters ahead of the main company.

"Watch your tone, Herr Gustav," Petr Stefanovich Rejewski warned, from Brandt's other side. "This man is in command of this banneret."

"I can defend decorum on my own, thank you, _Asan _Petr. Scharnhorst, shut up and take point with your lance. Three hundred meters spread. Petr, go with him."

"Aye, lord," Scharnhorst said through gritted teeth, turning to his men. "You heard him, move out."

Part of Scharnhorst, maybe most, hated being in the scouts. It was the lowest posting in a knight company, where the youngest knights went to cut their teeth. But its duties suited him, and his preferred weapons, just fine. And the chance to learn from a warrior as renowned as Julius Brandt was too good to be really upset about, even for a man as disinclined to the art and science of war as Scharnhorst, and even though Brandt could be a very unpleasant individual. He was a grizzled veteran of thirty years and twice as many campaigns, and had received the Magnus Cross from the hand of Karl Franz himself. His many acts of near superhuman heroics during the Storm of Chaos, including banishing a Keeper of Secrets, destroying a battery of daemonic artillery, and defeating six eight-foot tall, black-armored Chaos Warriors at once had made him, by most accounts, as near to a living legend as existed in the Old World. If he desired it, he might be Grandmaster himself right now, but for the fact that he had not been born in Talabecland.

"_Asan _Petr! Over here!" one of the Kislevite horsemen shouted to his captain, who was riding with Gustav.

"What have you found, Stepan?"

"It appears to be a fortified household, only a few hundred meters into the woods. Smoke rises from it."

"Excellent," Petr said, turning to the rider on his left. "Go tell Sir Julius we have found something."

A moment later, Brandt rode up. "Men, eh? Let's go knock on the door."

"Aye, Herr Julius," Petr said, turning to Stepan, "Lead the way."

* * *

The little party, consisting of Brandt, Scharnhorst, the Kislevites, squires, and Scharnhorst's lance, rode for about ten minutes, on a rather poor dirt track in the forest, before coming upon an ancient-looking palisade. It was about fifteen feet tall, and so encased in mud it was impossible to discern the individual posts. There was a gate set into the palisade, where the dirt track terminated. "Stepan, knock on the door," Petr ordered.

Brandt motioned to Scharnhorst, who cantered over. "You're observant, right?" Brandt asked

"I should hope so, my lord."

"Then keep an eye out. Knights aren't meant for forests, and I'd rather not get slaughtered."

"Yes, sir," Scharnhorst said, just as he heard a booming noise from the gate. Stepan was knocking on the door, slamming the blunt side of his hand-axe head into the sturdy timbers of the gate.

"In the name of the Knights Jaeger and Knight-Captain Otto von Donnersmark, Viscount of Zutzen, open up!" Stepan intoned, in his accented Reikspiel.

There was an audible scrambling inside, and a shout, before the gate opened a crack. "What do you want, my lords?" the peasant inside whined

Brandt rode forward. "I am Sir Julius Brandt, Baronet Scheinfeld, and my lord's company is in need of a guide to lead us through this forest, so that we may overtake the Orc horde. Are there any among you in there who can provide this service?"

"I am but a grandson, my lord. Please, step inside and speak to my grandfather. He will decide."

"Very well," Brand said, and the gate swung wide, admitting the knights and Kislevites.

Inside, the compound was larger than it looked from the outside, and proved to be ovoid rather than circular. It appeared to encompass approximately an acre, and had the look of a lumber camp. At the far (north) end of the compound, where there was another gate, a huge number of felled and trimmed trees were piled. Even as they entered, the other gate opened up, admitting several men carrying another tree. The center of the camp was dominated by a large agricultural plot, which were being somewhat indifferently worked by the women of the settlement. Along the east wall were a number of pens for livestock, and near the south gate was a small blacksmith's shop. Along the west wall were the dwellings of the inhabitants, of which there were five, and one larger hall where, presumably, the door-warden's grandfather lived.

Indeed, as the horsemen rode in, a party emerged from the hall, an old man at its head. He walked with a stick, but appeared strong and healthy. Scharnhorst noted that his gait was odd, with a slight hitch in both steps, which was probably arthritis or old war-wounds. Just behind and to the right of the old man was an erect middle-aged man, with just the beginnings of grey hair, who Scharnhorst assumed was the old man's son. He too walked with a slight limp, but he had the look of a veteran. Otherwise, father and son were accompanied by a few women and some lightly armed younger men, who wore shirts of mail and had swords belted at their sides.

"Greetings, Knights Jaeger," the old man intoned. "I am Kurt Meine. This is my hold, and my extended family. Next to me is my son and heir, Georg. How can we assist such noble warriors?"

"I see you make your living on the lumber trade," Brandt said, nodding towards the work taking place at the north end of the camp. "That must mean you know these woods well."

"That we do, my lord."

"My company needs to make contact with our order, which is on the other side of the Orc horde. We need a path through the forest that will let us overtake the horde."

"A dangerous thing, my lord. There are beastmen in the woods, and you'll probably run across Greenskin scouts, too."

"I am aware. It does not change our mission. Can you help?"

"My grandson," the old man said, gesturing to one of the young men behind him, "Is a hunter, and has ranged far and wide in these woods with his cousins. If there is a way to get you past the horde, he'll find it for you. How many in your company?"

"Nearly 300, including civilians."

"So many will be difficult. What do you think, Jens?" the old man said, turning to the hunter

"You are right, grandfather. It will be a challenge, but I think I can do it. I will need Heinrich and Albi, too. How far are you going?"

"As far as Bissendorf."

"If all goes well, I think I should be able to get you there in about three days.

"Excellent. Our paymaster will see to your fee when the company catches up."

"Are you to leave immediately?" the old man asked

"Yes. We will remain here only long enough for the leading elements of our company to arrive. Then we will leave with them. The rest of the company will follow without stopping."

"Very good."

At that, Scharnhorst trotted away, and led himself on a tour of the compound. In the pig pens, he noticed that one of the pigs was chewing on what looked like a horse leg bone, which he thought was odd feed. As he passed the hall, he noticed a shrine around the back, which appeared to be to Taal or Ulric, but somehow also neither. It also surprised him that there were no shrines or devotional objects in plain view. Most settlements like this wallowed in superstition, given the constant danger they faced and the brutish ignorance of their inhabitants. He supposed these people might simply be valorous. The young men wore their mail as if born to it, and attached to the blacksmith shop was a decent-sized armory, with more shirts of mail, spears, and large shields. As he passed the homes to rejoin Brandt, he glanced inside, and saw that they were uncommonly cluttered and poorly cleaned. Perhaps these people had been at least partially nomadic until recently, and disdained the comforts of the indoors.

He rode back to Brandt, who leaned over and asked quietly, "Notice anything?"

"Several things, lord. But nothing that really arouses my suspicions."

"Tell me what you found anyway."

Scharnhorst did, also explaining his surmises about the people. "Hmm. Interesting. Well, keep an eye on our guides as we leave."

"Do you think they mean us ill?"

"I doubt it, but it never hurts to be thorough."

"Aye, lord."

* * *

Less than an hour later, they were moving again, with Jens leading the way on a horse the captain had lent him. Heinrich and Albi, Jens' cousins, were spaced evenly along the nearly kilometer length of the company.

"The road is up here, my lords," Jens said, to Captain Donnersmark and Brandt, both of whom were riding at the head of the column.

"How large is this road?" Donnersmark asked

"Larger than you'd expect. You should be able to ride two abreast on it."

"Good. We'll be able to shorten." Donnersmark turned to Brandt, saying, "I really don't like being this long in a forest."

"These kids seem competent."

"But didn't our bright young sapling express some reservations?"

"Yes, but we're keeping an eye on them."

Half an hour later, the company emerged onto the 'secret road' the woodsmen had bragged so much about. And it was not (too) disappointing. It was indeed wide enough, generally, for two knights to ride abreast. And although it wasn't paved or cobbled or anything so sophisticated, it did appear to be mostly wide, straight, and flat.

* * *

"How was this road cut?" Scharnhorst asked of Jens

"A long time ago, this forest had many more woodsmen, who harvested a lot of timber. This road was created to ease traffic. When the timber boom ended, the road was mostly forgotten. We, and some of our neighbors, have tried to maintain it, just in case."

"How very civic-minded of you."

"What?"

"Never mind."

* * *

After the sun went down, the company stopped. There were no clearings large enough for the whole company, so it was split among three clearings.

"Should I be surprised we haven't encountered any beastmen yet?" Brandt asked of Heinrich.

"Probably not. They're out there, no doubt, but they're also cowards. They wouldn't attack a force as large as yours without being sure they could take you. And you'll be out of the woods before they can gather enough of their kin to be sure."

Brandt grunted at this, satisfied, and pulled his bedroll off his horse, which he spread on ground before getting out of his armor with the help of his squires.

As he laid down on his bedroll, he saw Heinrich get up and begin to leave the circle of torchlight that marked the camp. "Hey! Where are you going?"

"Gotta take a leak," he said, looking a little sheepish

Instead of replying, Brandt rolled over and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, after breakfasting and re-arming, but just before they were about to leave, Brandt found the guard whose section Heinrich had left through. "You saw that local kid leave the camp last night, right?"

"Yeah. Said he had to take a leak."

"Yes. When did he get back?"

"Hmm. Wasn't gone for more than half an hour."

"Is there a problem with my man, Brandt?" a knight said from behind him.

_Damn_, Brandt thought. _Why did that guard have to come from Liebig's lance?_ Sir Hugo von Liebig was only eighteen, but had enough arrogance for a man three times his age and three times as famous. He was handsome, if in a rather effeminate manner, and was indeed the eldest son of a very powerful duke in Talabecland.

"That's sir, to you, sapling,"

"Yes, well, if you have a problem with one of my men, come to me."

Brandt simply stared. A moment later, with a theatrical sigh and a sarcastic tone of voice that made Brandt want to smash his face in, "Sir."

The second day passed as uneventfully as the first, and neither Brandt nor Scharnhorst lost sight of their guides.

* * *

The third day was equally uneventful, until the company came upon a felled tree blocking the road. Scharnhorst immediately inspected it for signs of tool marks. "Anything?" Brandt shouted

"No! Looks like this tree did just fall ov-"

And then, the darkness of the forest lit up with hundreds of red eyes. Brandt ripped his sword from its sheath, and found the nearest guide, Jens, whose eyes flashed the same color and grinned at him with needle teeth, and then disappeared to join its brethren.

All up the column, a great shout went up and trumpets sounded, calling the knights and men-at-arms to action. The beastmen, charging by now, were only a few meters from the ill-deployed column. A few lances managed to charge into the beastmen, and Scharnhorst and his men got off two volleys from their carbines, but the battle quickly devolved into a confused melee.

The smarter knights dismounted, and formed into rings of steel amidst the mass of gors and ungors. The less intelligent knights tried fighting from horseback, and were quickly pulled down and killed. Brandt's Kislevites managed to link up with the dismounted knights, firing their short bows from inside the clumps of knights.

Scharnhorst and his men managed to find their way to the other scout knights, and their lances formed a clump of their own, providing enough cover that Scharnhorst's gunners were able to maintain a withering fire.

However, most of their ammunition was in saddlebags, and their horses were nowhere to be found, and so soon they ran out of ammunition for both their carbines and pistols, forcing them to join the battle as swordsmen.

Scharnhorst narrowly avoided a deathblow from a massive two-handed mace wielded by a seven-foot gor. He lunged in, nicking the gor's knee with his sword. It fell to one knee briefly, but that was all the time Brandt needed. He leapt into the air and plunged his sword into gor's exposed neck, showering Scharnhorst with hot, black, acidic blood. Brandt plugged the hole in the line left by Scharnhorst's retreat, and was immediately swarmed by a dozen tiny, hideous ungors, several of which he dispatched with blindingly quick strikes from his sword. The rest, however, bore him down. Scharnhorst leapt to his feet, and delivered a vicious kick to an ungor on Brandt's chest, which was about to push his small spear into Brandt's relatively unarmored armpit. He stomped on the ungor burdening Brandt's sword arm, which came up in a flash to dismember the remaining assailants.

Scharnhorst stepped over Brandt as he was rising to his feet, gutting a gor that was about to bring his halberd down onto the prone Knight-Ranger. Scharnhorst turned, extended his hand, and yanked Brandt to his feet, shouting, "Get up, old man! You know I'm not very good at this part!"

The knights returned to the fight, and both of them parried the same stroke from yet another huge gor, this time wielding a sword. Not expecting the double parry, the gor hesitated for an instant, and Brandt punched it in the face so violently with his left hand that its jaw flew off. Scharnhorst finished it, sliding his sword between the gor's legs and severing both femoral arteries.

Some forty meters away, the largest clump of some twenty knights and their lances surrounded Captain Donnersmark and his retinue, which was desperately trying to fight its way to the other two or three clumps of knights. "If we can only link up, we'll have these monsters," Donnersmark said through gritted teeth as he parried a blow from a mace with his armored forearm.

"Are we even going the right way?!" Wolf Vostell shouted, shattering a gor's leg with a blow from his warhammer. He finished it with a stomp to its face.

"We are!" shouted Ulli Zeiss, his entire body crawling with big, vicious badgers that occasionally leapt from him and clawed their way into beastmen skulls and stomachs. "Taal knows the way!"

"Then what the hell are we waiting for?" Vostell said, raising a shout and his hammer to Ulric. A bolt of silver-white fire hit the hammerhead, and suddenly it was encased in supernatural ice. The next beastman he hit froze instantly and shattered. With this advantage, he smashed through a score of beastmen in seconds, all in the general direction of Brandt's clump. The knights surrounding Donnersmark surged into this breach, cleaving their way to Brandt, whose exhausted knights and soldiers fell back into the center of Donnersmark's platoon.

Seeing that their enemies had organized, the beastmen began to lose heart, and it wasn't long before the other clumps of knights were reunited with main body of the company. Minutes later, the beastmen were in full rout. "No pursuit!" Vostell shouted. "Ulric's wolves will see to them."

And indeed, a great baying was heard from the forest, and hundreds of wolves descended on the fleeing enemy. Donnersmark glanced over at Vostell, disapprovingly, and said, "I give the orders, here, priest."

"Of course, my lord. My apologies."

Donnersmark whirled on Augustus Orff, the company paymaster, whose long grey beard was flying in all directions, and who appeared to be in mild shock. His fine robes were covered in blood. "Get me a headcount and get us ready to move. We've got to get out of this forest."

An hour later, the dead were tallied, and the wounded had been given sufficient treatment by Dr. von Tischner and the Sisters of Shallya that they were able to move. Several of the wagons had been damaged, but only two would have to be abandoned.

"Taal's nuts. Nineteen knights and more than a hundred men-at-arms dead. Down to less than half strength. Luckily we still have enough horses to keep everyone moving, even if a lot of knights are having to make do with little better than pack mules," Donnersmark seethed, cradling his badly bruised forearm.

"We've still made good time, and that, I think is what matters," Scharnhorst said.

"Better hope you're right, sapling. Because if you're wrong, and that thing isn't as important as you say it is, I'm going to beat you to death."

"Fair enough," Scharnhorst said as Donnersmark spun on his heel.

"Given that I half-expected you to piss your pants and run screaming, you didn't do so bad, sapling," Brandt said, walking up.

"Thanks. Really warms my heart, sir."

"Oh, poor you," Brandt said, eliciting a chuckle from the younger knight.

"Is this my fault?" he asked, more quizzically than truly guilty

"A little," he said, walking off.

Scharnhorst ambled off to where his lance had set up to refit their gear, where he found his squire polishing his breastplate. "You okay, Hansie? Sorry we got separated."

"Our squire here killed four gors, on his own, Sir Gus," Sergeant Rauch said

"Four? Nicely done, my boy."

"Well, Willi had shot one of them in the leg, sir."

"Honest to a fault, this one. Lesson number one: always take credit, especially when a sucker like Willi just offers it up like that."

Hans Strasser grinned sheepishly, "I'll remember it, sir."

"Good. Any of you seen Markus?"

"Sir Markus is over with the Sisters, Sir Gus."

* * *

"OW! Damn it!" Markus Kohl shouted into Dr. von Tischner's face. "If I'd known how much getting fixed up hurt, I'd never have gotten injured in the first place."

The old canoness just stared at him, impassive, until he stopped talking. "Good. Impossible to work amid incessant banter."

"It's not banter unless you participate, doctor."

"No. So shut up."

"Good to see you're still capable of annoying everyone in earshot, Markus. Lets me know you're going to be fine."

"Hey, until you showed up I was only annoying the good doctor. And you see, dcotor? Gus recognizes the diagnostic value of talking." Again, Dr. von Tischner didn't respond, but did turn her icy stare on Gustav.

"Why you have bring me into stuff like this, Markus?"

"You started this part of the conversation."

Scharnhorst made a little gesture of concession, and sat down opposite the cot where Markus' arm was being treated.

"What happened to him, doc?"

"Stopped axe with upper arm. And then got stepped on."

"Only lightly stepped on. And I killed that gor anyway."

"Yes, all hail conquering hero," Dr. von Tischner said

"Think we're going to make it to the Grandmaster in time?"

"I doubt it," Markus said, looking off to the south.

* * *

"This is a bad idea," Franz von Weyl, 89th Graf von Obelheim, 2nd Preceptor of the Knights Jaeger, said.

"Why are you looking at me like it's my idea? It was your Hochmeister who put us on this course," Klaus Lomb shot back.

"Because this part _was_ your idea," Reidel said

"Damned right," the general said, surveying the disposition of troops along the Stir river. Volgen, Lomb, and von Weyl had departed Trautenan with 20,000 of the best troops in the army, half Talabeclanders, and half Knights Jaeger, 1,200 knights and their lances. They had double-timed to Bissendorf, the last town in the Orc horde's path before it entered Talabecland. They arrived to a deserted town, which suited the commanders fine. According to the scouts, they had arrived only a half-day ahead of the Orc horde, giving them precious little time to deploy. 8,000 of the men, including 200 (dismounted) Knights Jaeger and their lances, encamped in the center of town, under the command of the Hochmeister.

12,000 men, including 1,000 Knights Jaeger and their lances, under the joint command of Lomb and Obelheim, deployed along the north-south bank of the River Stir, in some cases literally crouching or lying prone to stay under the cover of the bank. If all went according to plan, the Orcs would see Volgen in the town center, would attack him, and, once all 50,000 of them were engaged, Lomb's corps would swing out, like a giant door slamming shut, engaging the enemy all along his rear and southern flank, and blockading the Dorlesk road, the only escape route.

The Knights Jaeger, under von Weyl personally, were placed closest to the town, on the Lomb corps' left or north flank, in order to provide the most immediate relief to the Volgen corps, which would be sorely pressed by the appointed time for Lomb's corps to attack. On the right (south) flank, were Lomb's own heavy halberdiers, handgunners, crossbowmen, Zweihanders, and even a company of Dwarfs, plus two thousand Knights Jaeger lancemen, dismounted.

It was, in all, the best deployment they could have made in such a short time, at least if you asked Lomb. The hard part know was making sure the Orcs didn't find out about the ambush. They had already killed several scouts that had come down in the direction of Lomb's corps, while pointedly allowing those scouting the town to return.

The only thing that was really nagging at Lomb was the east. They hadn't had time to properly consider the tactical implications of having the Dead Wood of Mordheim directly on their flank, and on what would become their rear once the ambush was mounted. They had sent scouts in there, of course, but the ones that returned hadn't reported anything. The fact that some hadn't returned meant nothing in its own right. Very little that ventured into those woods for any length of time returned. But still, it wasn't unheard of for vast numbers of undead to suddenly vomit forth from the Dead Wood, and other foul things were always roaming on its outskirts. In short, it was a dangerously unknown variable. Lomb didn't like variables.

Due to the overwhelming need for secrecy, no scouts could be dispatched from Lomb's corps or report to it, so they were as surprised as anyone when the leading elements of the Orc horde appeared. Lomb examined them through his spyglass. They appeared to be following the script, thus far.

The next hour was the longest of Lomb's life. He could hear the sounds of battle, the screams of the dying, the clash of sword on shield, even the occasional thunder of hooves as parties of the Knights Jaeger made limited mounted charges. A messenger came from the north, from Obelheim. _We have to go now_, it said, curtly. Lomb sent back, _Wait for my trumpet._

Twenty minutes later, another message, the same but with the exhortation, _They're being slaughtered! _Lomb sent back, _Wait, damn you, the horde's not fully in off the road yet. If we go to soon they'll escape_.

Twenty minutes later, "It's time," he said, to his trumpeter, who blew a long, loud blast, that was quickly taken up all down the line. The giant door sprang to life, as the companies and regiments wheeled to envelop the enemy all along their rear.

The most dramatic were the thousand knights under Obelheim, who immediately charged deep into the Orc lines, largely securing the south side of town, and linking up with Volgen's troops, who had already suffered almost half their number dead. The heavy infantry under Lomb were slower, but they, as in all Imperial armies, were the true battle-winners, and it would be they who would choke off the enemy's retreat.

And yet Lomb could not shake his dread of the east. As his troops moved, he ordered a redeployment. He thinned his lines in the center in order to hold back two regiments of halberdiers and the Dwarfs in reserve. The original plan hadn't called for reserves due to the small number of troops, but the calculus had changed.

The line was just long enough to close off the road behind the Orcs. Their ferocity, however, was great and he had to commit one of his reserve regiments to prevent a breach that would have put Lomb's corps into a double envelopment of its own.

And then, just as the Greenskin defense slackened, allowing some real advances to be made by Lomb's men, a ball of green light arced into the sky from the center of the horde. "I doubt that's good," Lomb said.

From out of the Dead Wood came a huge force of feral Orcs, most wielding wooden spears and rock clubs, led by a knot of huge Nobs, the one in the lead wielding a two-handed Empire sword in each hand. Lomb immediately deployed his one reserve regiment, the Dwarfs, and his own hundred-strong bodyguard to hold the Orcs. He sent a messengers to Obelheim and Volgen, informing them of his intent to sound the retreat immediately. Just before his reserves engaged the new force, he sent messengers to his regimental commanders, ordering them to fall back in leapfrogs south towards the river and towards the great mass of Knights Jaeger.

And then, suddenly, he had no time for any more messages, drawing his sword and leading the advance into the feral Orcs.

* * *

In the center of town, Volgen and Obelheim received Lomb's dispatches. "That coward!" Obelheim shouted. "A feral Orc shows its face and he retreats?"

Volgen ignored him, catching a messenger, who he sent to the top of Bissendorf's temple steeple, where a man was watching the battle with a spyglass. The man returned in a flash, saying, "Lomb's men have begun their retreat."

"How does it look?"

"Orderly. They're falling back in leapfrogs, forming a rearguard _schwerpunkt_."

"And they're on their way here?"

"Yes, lord."

"How many ferals?"

"Our spy estimates ten thousand, but they're still streaming out of the forest."

"What's Lomb doing?"

"His reserves have been stretched to an incredible length, to receive the ferals. His standard is at the fore."

"How many men in his reserve force?"

"No more than fifteen hundred."

"Are they holding?"

"For now."

Volgen turned to Obelheim, "Coward, eh?"

"I spoke in haste, my lord."

"Yes. Now get us ready to move." Volgen turned back to the messenger, saying, "See if you can make it back to Lomb. Tell him to try and fall back with his other troops, if he can."

* * *

Lomb heard the shouted message from Volgen, and shouted back, "Tell your lord I doubt I can fall back! I don't think we're going anywhere!"

"Sigmar guide you, sir!" the messenger shouted, pelting off on his horse. Lomb's reserves had curved inward on either flanks, in a desperate attempt to avoid being outflanked. Before long, they would be caught in a pocket and the ferals could pass right by. Lomb vowed not to let that happen, and began a fighting retreat, not to escape, but to keep the ferals from crashing into the main army's rear.

It worked, for about fifteen more minutes, before a company of feral orc boar-riders smashed through his halberdiers, reducing them to a few tiny pockets that were quickly cut to pieces. At that point, Lomb did briefly try to retreat back to the main army, but they were indeed closed off in a pocket, consisting of himself, a handful of his bodyguard, and two score hard-bitten Dwarfs in armor so heavy they were nearly invulnerable to the ferals' weapons, but not to their weight. He, the bodyguard captain, and the dwarf captain fought back-to-back in a ring of steel, slicing, chopping, hammering, and bashing, until they too went down. Lomb, down one knee, desperately parried a crushing blow from a rock club, but a tiny feral goblin leapt into the air, and smashed his wooden spear through Lomb's throat. As he fell, he saw was Volgen and Obelheim retreating in good order, back to Trautenan. Then it was dark.

* * *

From a hill overlooking the battlefield, Otto von Donnersmark swore foully. "We're still on the wrong side of the horde," a luckless lanceman said from behind the captain. The captain whirled on the man, his eyes shining with rage, and punched him in the face.

"Woah, captain. It's not his fault we didn't make it in time," Brandt said reprovingly

"Then whose fault is it?!"

"The beastmen."

"And whose fault is it that we got ambushed by beastmen?!"

"Yours, sir. This is your company. You gave the orders to use those scouts."

"Bullshit! You decided what we were going to do before I even arrived at that little hovel."

"I bear responsibility too. And I still believe it was the right decision at the time. But as you said to the Wolf-Priest after the battle, you give the orders here. You're in command. Ultimate responsibility for everything that happens is on you. It's part of leadership, sapling."

"SAPLING?!" the captain screamed, making as though to yank out his sword. Dr. von Tischner approached him from behind, and jabbed him in the back of the neck with her index finger. The finger flared with white light, and the captain collapsed, unconscious.

"The captain is indisposed, I think, Sir Julius. Perhaps you should take command for the time being," the doctor said.

"Any objections?" Brandt asked of the surviving Knights-Banneret. They said nothing. "Then move out."


End file.
